Surrender
by DreamsofSpike
Summary: Sequel to "Leverage" Pairing: House/Wilson Warnings: kink, dom/sub; Wilson tells House exactly what he has in mind for their new relationship... House has to decide whether or not he's willing to give up that much control...


House used his cane to shove Wilson's office door open, hard enough that it bounced off the wall with a resounding and thoroughly satisfying bang

House used his cane to shove Wilson's office door open, hard enough that it bounced off the wall with a resounding and thoroughly satisfying bang. He strode purposefully into the room, slamming the door hard behind him as he threw himself down into the chair across from Wilson's, giving him an expectant look and waiting to be acknowledged in some way.

Wilson didn't even look up from the form he was filling out.

"So… what the hell happened last night?" House demanded, determined not to be put off by whatever point Wilson thought he was making by ignoring him. "What _was_ that?"

Wilson didn't respond at all, just kept writing.

One eyebrow raised speculatively, House very obviously settled more comfortably into the chair, crossing his arms stubbornly over his chest. "So it's just business as usual today, then? I guess you _usually_ deal with your anger with inappropriate displays of physical affection, with a side of violence thrown in just for kicks? Or is that new?"

"House… I'm busy." Wilson's voice was quiet, utterly calm, and he didn't even look up.

House reached across the desk and snatched the paper out from under Wilson's hand, crumpling it and tossing it over his shoulder. "Paperwork can wait. We've got more important things to deal with at the moment." He leaned forward, bracing a hand on the desk. "You _kissed_ me, Wilson." House rolled his eyes and added in a falsely light, airheaded sort of voice, "What's up with _that_?"

Wilson remained utterly unperturbed, avoiding eye contact as he calmly reached for another file and set it on the desk in front of him, in place of the paper House had confiscated.

"This isn't the time for this discussion, House," he stated. "I'm working right now."

"This is a nice little role reversal, isn't it?" House smirked. "Usually you can't stop trying to force me to talk about whatever imaginary issues you think I've got at any given time. But all of a sudden you're all about the avoidance?" He shook his head with a tsking sound of disapproval. "That's not healthy, Wilson. It'll come to a bad end. Who knows?" He spoke slowly, as if he was coming up with the scenario off the top of his head, as he warned, "You could end up a lonely, miserable drug addict with only one friend…" He paused, frowning skeptically as he looked Wilson up and down. "… who… seems to be exhibiting signs of deep mental and emotional disturbance at the moment..."

"Not now, House."

House frowned as Wilson finished his notation in the file and rose to his feet to place it in the cabinet against the far wall. He turned in his seat to watch Wilson as he closed the filing cabinet and turned to face his friend.

Wilson's tone was dismissive as he turned toward the door, reaching for the handle. "I've got a meeting. We'll talk later…"

"No, you can't just walk away…" House rose from his seat and reached out to grasp Wilson's wrist in an effort to get him to wait.

Apparently, that was what it took to push Wilson into a reaction.

He spun around abruptly, jerking his arm free of House's hand and shoving him with both hands toward the desk – not hard enough to hurt him, but hard enough to throw House off balance and cause him to fall back against the desk. As House dropped his cane in order to catch himself on both hands, Wilson swiftly moved into the space he had vacated, closing the distance between them so that he was standing in the space between House's sprawled legs.

Wilson was shorter than House, but in House's current position, the younger man towered over him simply by virtue of standing. There was a cool, calculated smile on Wilson's lips, and House couldn't help but feel just the slightest bit – _intimidated_.

House thought of what Wilson had done with his cigarette from the night before, and suddenly, the way Wilson had so casually pushed him into the desk – and what was, in hindsight, probably the exact position in which he wanted him – was a little alarming. He instinctively flinched as Wilson's hand moved toward his face with swift confidence – only to caress gently through his hair as Wilson smiled appraisingly down at him.

"You're not going to call the shots about this one, House," Wilson informed him in a soft, calm tone that held a vaguely dangerous note of warning. He paused a moment, considering his words before acknowledging with a slight nod, "I realize you're concerned about what happened last night – and you deserve an explanation. But I'm working right now. This is not the time or place to have that conversation."

Wilson raised his eyebrows in a silent question as he met House's eyes, and House found himself automatically nodding his understanding.

"You have two options, House," Wilson continued, holding House's attention with an arresting gaze that refused to allow him to break eye contact. "You can either get over it and go on as if nothing happened… in which case, this friendship is almost definitely over, because things can't keep going the way they have been…"

House raised his eyebrows in an automatic challenge at those words, refusing to allow Wilson to see that the calm, matter-of-fact way in which Wilson spoke of ending their friendship made him feel sick to his stomach. He remained silent, waiting uneasily for Wilson to go on.

"Or, you can come to the hotel tonight, and we can talk. I'll explain what happened last night… and I'll tell you what it's going to take to save this friendship. It's up to you."

Unnerved by the entire situation, House raised his chin with a defiant smirk. "You think you're going to _tell_ me what _I_ need to do so you'll stay my friend? What makes you think this friendship is worth more to me than my self-respect?"

Wilson's expression softened with something halfway between affection and pity, as he replied quietly, "I don't. I'm trying to _salvage_ your self-respect, House… if you've got any left."

House's eyes widened, and he opened his mouth for an indignant protest; but Wilson had already turned away from him.

"Meeting," he reminded House as he opened the door. "I'm going to be late."

And without another word, he was gone, leaving House fuming about the _nerve_ of Wilson, to think that he could just give him _orders_, and expect that House would go along with it, just because he said so! Well, friendship or no, House had no intention of showing up at Wilson's hotel room that night. No way was he going to let his friend think that he had that much control over House's actions.

No, House had every intention of spending the evening in his own apartment, with the company of his television and a bottle of Vicodin – just like he spent every evening these days.

Somehow, despite his intentions, House still found himself outside Wilson's hotel room at seven that evening.

He hesitated before knocking on the door, somehow sensing the finality that would come with the gesture. Apprehension engaged in a brief war with curiosity; and, because this war took place in _House's_ mind… curiosity inevitably won. Making his decision, House lifted his cane and rapped at the door – three sharp, loud knocks in slow succession.

After a few tense moments during which House almost decided to turn and walk away, Wilson finally answered the door. The smug smile on his face held such an irritating _lack_ of surprise, that House felt the need to make as obnoxious an entrance as possible.

He pushed rudely past Wilson into the room, making his way immediately to the mini-fridge and taking out a bottle of beer. He gave Wilson as expectant look, hesitating before closing the refrigerator door.

"Want one?"

Wilson shook his head, a strangely cool expression of mild amusement on his face as he silently watched House make his way back across the room toward him. House studied him cautiously, trying to figure out what was different about him – because something _was_ different.

Wilson's physical appearance was striking, for one thing. He was dressed in a pair of dark jeans, with a black, long-sleeved shirt, not his usual uniform of button-down and tie. He seemed unusually quiet and calm… utterly in control. House felt his stomach do a funny little flip when Wilson noticed his staring, acknowledging it with a knowing little smile.

It was unnerving.

House tried to cover with a careless shrug. "Suit yourself. I have a feeling I'm going to need a drink or two before this conversation is over. This had better be some explanation. After storming into my home and _accosting_ me, you've got a lot to answer for, Jimmy." He smirked. "And I'm just _dying_ to hear…"

"House."

Wilson cut him off in a soft voice that was still somehow arresting, and House found himself obediently falling silent in spite of himself, waiting to see what Wilson would do next.

He didn't have to wait long.

Wilson reached out to grip the back of the wheeled chair at the desk beside them, and slid it between them. His dark, piercing gaze never leaving House's eyes, he moved around behind the chair, directly into House's personal space without hesitation, so that there was less than an inch of empty space between them. Wilson's voice was very quiet, barely over a whisper, as he issued another command with disarming softness.

"Sit down… and shut up."

House's eyes widened slightly, his breath quickening, alarms sounding in his mind at the vaguely dangerous gleam he saw in his friend's eyes. But alarm was not the only feeling Wilson's behavior inspired in him.

House's thoughts were drawn back to the night before, the cigarette, and what Wilson had done with it. He felt his body beginning to respond to the memory, as well at the powerful, authoritative tone in Wilson's voice – so unfamiliar, and so intriguing. He found himself wanting to obey, if only to see where and how far Wilson would take this little game he was playing.

Wilson abruptly backed up a step, easing the tension slightly with a dismissive shrug. "Or you can turn around and walk out, if you like," he suggested in a deceptively casual voice. "It's your choice, House. Whatever you want to do."

House hesitated a moment longer; but Wilson's wise choice to place a little of the power back in his hands made House's decision easier. Slowly, cautiously, he slid the chair back a bit and sat down, watching Wilson closely as he did.

Wilson nodded with a smile of approval, walking around to stand in front of the chair, and House couldn't help but feel a twinge of nervous apprehension at the obvious power discrepancy. He raised the beer bottle to his mouth in an attempt to steady his nerves, but before he could take another drink, Wilson reached out and swept the bottle from his grasp, placing it out of reach on the desk behind him.

"Hey!" House protested. "I need that!"

"No, you don't," Wilson stated, a serious expression on his face as he met House's eyes. "You need to be sober for this."

House raised an eyebrow, a slightly queasy sensation in the pit of his stomach. "For _what_?"

"You have an important decision to make tonight," was Wilson's cryptic response.

He picked up the bottle again and walked back toward the refrigerator to put it away, not speaking until he was standing in front of House again. House tapped his foot in a gesture of nervous impatience, wondering if Wilson was drawing out the suspense to deliberately torture him. Wilson came to stand in front of House again, studying him with an appraising gaze. Finally, he spoke again, his voice quiet and thoughtful.

"I'm sorry about last night, House."

House regarded him warily. "Are you."

"Yeah." Wilson nodded. "I just sort of… snapped. I shouldn't have lost control with you like that, shouldn't have hurt you… not without your consent. Not without clear guidelines in…"

"Guidelines?" House echoed dubiously. "They make _guidelines_ for when it is and isn't appropriate to burn your friends with lit cigarettes?"

Wilson didn't bother to argue or defend himself, just made his way swiftly and certainly toward the door, swinging it open with a dramatic flourish and standing back expectantly to allow House to leave if he chose to do so. The message was immediately clear, and House held up both hands with a sigh of surrender.

"Okay, okay. Shutting up."

Wilson was quiet for a moment as he closed the door again and returned to his friend. House searched his eyes for some sign as to where this was headed, and was a bit relieved at the first trace of uncertainty and vulnerability he had seen in Wilson since the beginning of this strange encounter. Wilson's voice was soft, almost pleading, when he finally spoke with stark, painful honesty.

"I can't watch you hurt yourself anymore."

House's lips parted in the beginning of a response – but he realized a moment later that he had none. He wanted to deny hurting himself – but he knew that he couldn't. Wilson knew him far too well.

"I care too much for that. You're my best friend, House. And I think you know, after last night…" Wilson gave him a rueful, mildly embarrassed smile. "… I'd… like for us to be more than that. And I think..." Wilson paused, walking slowly around behind House's chair, trailing a casually seductive hand across his shoulder and around to the back of his neck. "… I _think_… you'd like that, too."

House closed his eyes, trying to control his breathing, as Wilson slowly circled him in a manner that was almost predatory, the light touch of his fingertips stirring a response in House's body that he tried to repress. It wouldn't do to let Wilson know how much of the upper hand he already had in this situation.

"What makes you think I'd like that?" he asked in a carefully controlled voice that still held the slightest hint of a tremor.

Wilson came back around to face him as House finished his question, crouching in front of him and meeting his eyes with a teasing, disarming smile as he slid a hand up House's thigh.

"Oh, I don't know." He shrugged innocently, then suddenly grasped the evidence of House's arousal, causing the older man to gasp and reach out to place his hands protectively over Wilson's. "_This_, maybe?" His tone hardened immediately, but he didn't miss a beat as he ordered softly, "Put your hands at your sides, House."

House's hands twitched as he almost obeyed, but not quite. He frowned, eyes drifting closed in response to Wilson's slow, strong caress, as he managed to choke out, "W-why… why should I…?"

His words ended in a sharp gasp of mingled pain and arousal as Wilson's hand clenched tightly around House's covered erection, and the younger man rose up slightly over him, his free hand grasping a handful of House's hair and jerking his head backward in a possessive, dominant gesture. He moved in very close to House's face, his words slow and emphatic and deliberate.

"Because I told you to." He smiled when House's treacherous cock twitched under his hand, and added, more softly, "And because you _like_ this, House. You like my taking control. Submitting to me. You might not want to admit it – but a part of you _wants _this, House. Don't you?"

House didn't answer, but he swallowed hard, eyes closed to conceal the truth.

Wilson's voice lowered, dark with warning as he repeated, "Put. Your hands. _Down_."

There was a long, tense moment in which neither was exactly sure what would happen – and then, House slowly, haltingly removed his hands, placing them down at his sides as Wilson had ordered, grasping the bottom of the chair in an effort to keep them there.

Wilson smiled. "Good," he murmured with clear pleasure at House's decision. "Good, House. That's the right choice."

As he spoke, he continued lightly stroking House through his jeans, his other hand still holding House's head back at an angle that was slightly uncomfortable, but not painful, a subtle and constant reminder of Wilson's position of control in the situation.

"You want more?" he whispered.

House nodded eagerly, biting his lip in an effort to hold back his protest as Wilson removed his hand for a moment. He deftly unfastened the button at the top of House's jeans, then slid his zipper down, and slipped his hand inside, grasping House's erection through his underwear, in a firm, dominant grip. House bit back a groan at the increased intensity of contact, his arms jerking as his hands clenched around the edge of the chair.

"It makes sense," Wilson whispered, his voice slow and enticing as he eased his grip and set to work gradually teasing House to a state of greater desire and need. As he continued, his voice grew harder, carrying a vague note of anger. "You've always got to be in control… always got to prove that you're so strong… invulnerable… don't need anything from anyone…"

He accompanied the words with a sharp scratch of his fingernails along the underside of House's erection, and House couldn't quite hold back a strangled whimper at the almost-pain of the unexpected touch, the restrained threat in Wilson's tone. Then, all at once, Wilson's hand and voice both softened, becoming gentle and affectionate.

"That's why you _need_ this, House. This… surrender. This chance to give up control to someone else for a little while. To let someone else take over, so you don't have to be so strong… so guarded… all the time." His voice lowered to a seductive whisper, his lips close enough to brush House's ear as he closed his hand in a firm fist around House's throbbing cock.

"Don't tell me you don't want that."

House struggled to regain some measure of control, gasping for breath, opening hazy eyes to meet Wilson's expectant gaze as he choked out a half-hearted, thoroughly unconvincing protest.

"I… d-don't… want it…"

Wilson just smiled, a knowing look in his dark, laughing eyes. "Liar," he accused softly.

His smile faded slowly, his hand moving again, gradually working House toward the edge of his climax, as he continued to explain what he had in mind. His voice was quiet, weighted with concern and affection, as the hand in House's hair gentled, stroking lightly through it as he spoke.

"I want to give you what you need, House. I want to help you. I want to be the one you can trust enough to surrender control to – and I want to use the control you give me to help you stop this… this self-destructive pattern you've gotten yourself into. Let me take a little bit of the burden from you, House. Let me take over. I can help you; I _know_ I can… but you have to _let_ me."

His voice was hushed, husky with his own desire, as he stroked a thumb firmly down the underside of House's erection, circling the tip with his fingertips as he leaned in close, his breath hot against the sensitive skin behind House's ear.

"_Give yourself to me_."

That was all it took, and House lost all semblance of control, his climax overwhelming him. He let out a strangled cry, collapsing against the chair, and would have slid off onto the floor, had Wilson's firm, supportive arm around his chest not held him up. As House gasped for breath, gradually recovering, Wilson kept his steadying arms around him.

As the haze slowly passed, and House began to return to full awareness, Wilson removed his arms, backing off and rising to his feet. House glanced up at him with embarrassed uncertainty as he tucked his softening member back into his jeans and zipped them up with a trembling hand.

His voice shook slightly as he stated, "You _do_ realize there's a strong possibility you're crazy, right?"

Wilson smiled in rueful amusement, nodding slowly. "Yeah," he admitted. "But there's also a strong possibility I'm right. And _that_ theory actually has supporting evidence."

House looked away, his face flushed with embarrassment, as he rose awkwardly to his feet. He shook his head slowly in bewilderment, struggling to process what Wilson had just said and done.

"You can't really expect me to just… what? Submit my will to yours?" He spoke the last sentence with deliberate irony, a single incredulous brow raised as he gave Wilson a dubious look.

"That's up to you." Wilson shrugged mildly, half-turning away from House as he sat down on the edge of his bed. "Completely your choice." His light manner faded, becoming deadly serious as he added, "But I refuse to watch you slowly kill yourself anymore, House. You can let me help you… or you can find someone else to help you… or…" He hesitated, grimacing at the pain of speaking the words as he met House's eyes and concluded, "… or you can find someone else to watch you destroy your life, one step at a time. Because I'm done."

House was silent, sobered by Wilson's words, and the firm surety he heard in them. The whole Tritter debacle, his recent overdose, all the recent painful, frightening drama they'd been through had apparently driven Wilson to his breaking point. Staring at the sad resignation in his friend's eyes, House had no doubt that Wilson meant every word.

"I know you need to think about it," Wilson acknowledged with a nod, his eyes averted. "I know it's a big decision. If we do this… it isn't a game. It isn't something you just… walk away from and pretend it never happened. I understand that it's gonna take some thought and consideration." He paused, looking up to meet House's eyes again.

"I'll give you twenty-four hours."

House gave him a startled, uncertain look, waiting for further clarification.

"If you decide you want to give this a try… to let me help you…" Wilson's voice was quiet and solemn as he watched House closely, making sure he understood. "… then be back here tomorrow night, same time. If you're not, I'll know your decision."

House frowned slightly, troubled, but nodded once in silent agreement as he headed for the door. He stopped just short of walking out, turning to face Wilson as he stated softly, "Don't be surprised if you don't see me. I'm not very comfortable with letting other people make choices for me, no matter how much I think I trust them." He paused, gesturing toward his bad leg with the cane in his hand. "Last time I did… didn't work out so well for me."

Wilson nodded in silent understanding… but House knew that it changed nothing about what he had said. If he didn't show up the following night, House knew that it was as good as throwing away their friendship entirely.

He just had to decide if Wilson was worth the risk.


End file.
